


City Made of Stone

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Neal had loved about Kate was taken by the fire, but he needed to know what had happened to whatever was left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	City Made of Stone

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about the situation surrounding Kate's death and realized that I hadn't ever thought about what might have happened regarding her death while Neal was in prison. Also, I was listening to the beautiful, sad song [Walking Past the Graveyard, Not Breathing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8Hry3EG1vg) by Hem, which is where I got the title for this story. This story may not be entirely realistic but...whatever, artistic license.

It seemed unreal, most of the time, that Kate could actually be dead. Neal had done his best to avoid thinking about her while he was back in prison, and often he would let himself pretend that everything was just the same as before his ill-fated escape, with her waiting for him. Somewhere. In a sense, perhaps she was. Still.

Then he was released, and there was work to do. He focused on his investigation into Fowler and Mentor and the whole related conspiracy surrounding the music box, but it was easy to let himself think around the horror at the center of it all. That moment--Kate's existence obliterated by fire, the plane burning there on the tarmac, the cold day overwhelmed with heat and smoke--didn't seem real. Neal had to remind himself on more than one occasion that Kate was gone forever, that no matter how many times he thought he saw her face on some beautiful woman he passed on the street it would never be her.

Working with Peter was a good distraction. It kept him from losing himself in his emotions and balanced out the time he spent on his own work with Mozzie, but a long, quiet stake-out didn't work nearly as well as a good foot chase or undercover operation. Neal could hold himself together when he was pretending to be Nick Halden or any of his other aliases, but sitting in a dark car with nothing but Peter and NPR and some half-eaten sandwiches left too much space for his thoughts to wander.

"I have to ask a question," Neal said, his throat dry. Peter must have known that this would be something more than further harassment over his food choices because he reached out to turn off the radio then looked at Neal with a calm, sober face and nodded. "You never said--I--" Neal sighed and went to rub a hand over his face until he realized his hand was shaking and let it drop back down to his side.

"Is this about Kate?" There was no judgement in Peter's voice, just a kind of gentleness that Neal was ashamed to need.

Neal nodded and looked out into the night, though a faint reflection of his own face and Peter's face behind him overlaid the semi-darkness. "What happened to her? I mean--" Neal stopped and swallowed hard. "Her body." Neal paused again to steady himself then said more quietly. "If there was anything found."

Peter sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner but I didn't want to make you have a conversation you weren't ready for. I thought Mozzie might have said something."

"Mozzie? No."

"Okay. There were remains identified as Kate's found in the wreckage. Once the NTSB released them--her--Mozzie and I took care of having her buried. There was no service, but there's a stone. Simple, but--"

"Thank you." Neal was surprised, but then he realized that he shouldn't be, that Peter was a man who always tried to do the decent thing and that Mozzie had cared about Kate in his own way. "Can you tell me where?"

"Queens. I can take you there, if you'd like."

Neal nodded, his throat feeling too full to speak for a moment. "Tomorrow?" he said when he could get the word out without sounding too choked.

"I'll pick you up at nine."

After a long, quiet moment Peter turned the radio back on, the volume low. They had two more hours left on their shift of the stake-out, and when they talked it was about the case and office gossip and a local politician who had embarrassed himself; neither of them said Kate's name but she was there in the car with them, the only kind of ghost Neal believed in.

~~~

Neal woke early that morning, feeling worn out by a night full of dreams he wanted to forget. He dressed and drank some coffee then went for a walk. He breathed in the relatively cool air of the morning before the heat of early summer set in; he focused on the sound of his feet on the sidewalk until they started to sound like a funeral march. He stopped to buy flowers, taking time to choose each stem before the florist wrapped them in crinkly cellophane, then arrived back at June's just in time to meet Peter at the front steps.

Neal prepared himself for an awkward conversation, but Peter just looked at the flowers then looked at Neal's face and nodded before he got back in the car. They were traveling in the opposite direction of most of the morning traffic, away from Manhattan rather than towards it, and it wasn't long before the more densely populated parts of the borough gave way to streets full of small houses and the sprawling emptiness of cemeteries. Peter drove through a set of gates and then made his way more slowly along a narrow, curving path that took them through a part of the cemetery that was filled with older, weathered gravestones and monuments and eventually into a newer area where the engraving on the stones looked crisp, like the edges were sharp enough to cut.

Neal's stomach tightened with each section of graves they passed, and he had to force himself to relax his hands so that he didn't mangle the flowers in his lap. The smell of them was vaguely nauseating after the long drive, and Neal had to breathe through his mouth for a moment to get a break from it.

"You doing okay?"

"Sure."

"Uh-huh." Peter pulled to a smooth stop. "Well, Kate's grave is straight back from here, the fourth row. I thought I would drive further down a little bit and wait for you, unless you want me to come with you." The last words sounded like a question, even if Peter probably knew what the answer would be.

"I'll go alone. Thank you."

Peter just nodded, and Neal got out of the car with his flowers in hand. He heard Peter drive away as he stepped onto the grass, and he stood in place for a moment, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. His lungs felt tight and heavy as he walked through the rows of buried strangers until he found the one he was looking for.

KATHERINE MOREAU  
1983 - 2010

Neal sighed and closed his eyes, but the stark reality of those two lines engraved in stone couldn't be denied. Neal tried not to think about what might be buried under the grass. He was certain that Peter and Mozzie would have chosen something tasteful but whether it was a coffin or some kind of smaller container Neal didn't know. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about what might be left of the person he'd loved, the woman he had held in his arms. He didn't want to imagine what kind of thing might be left of her, but the less he wanted those thoughts the more they pushed into his mind.

Neal sank down into a crouch, set the flowers down in front of Kate's headstone and took a few rough, gulping breaths before he could get himself under control. He steadied himself with a hand on the cool stone and thought about what he would say to Kate if he could. _I love you_ , and he still did. _I'm sorry_ , because he was, even if he didn't know what he could have done to fix things and keep Kate alive. _Come back_ , even if it was utterly impossible, Neal couldn't help but wish for it.

Neal stood, all of his words unspoken because he wasn't interested in talking to the dead. The only way he knew to live his life was to keep pushing ahead, and part of moving forward was making some kind of sense out of Kate's death but standing in a graveyard feeling sick with grief and loneliness couldn't help him make that happen. "Good-bye," he whispered finally, despite himself, then turned his back on Kate's grave and walked away.

Peter had kept his word; he was parked a few hundred yards down the paved path, and he was standing on the far side of the car, leaning back against it as he looked off into the distance away from Neal. Neal brushed away the moisture gathered in his eyes, and when he got closer he made enough noise that Peter heard him and turned around. Peter's eyes were sharp as he looked at Neal, then he nodded and walked closer. "You're ready to go?"

"I am."

Peter put his hand on Neal's back, a broad, solid touch, then slid it up to squeeze Neal's shoulder, almost a sideways hug. Neal didn't let himself melt into the touch, but he didn't pull away and Peter seemed to understand. He kept his hand in place as they breathed together for a moment then gently patted Neal's shoulder and walked over to the driver's side door. "I can take you back to June's and give you the rest of the day off or you can come in to the office with me. It's your choice."

"I'd rather work, but I appreciate that, Peter."

"Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know."

"I will," Neal said, even though he doubted that he would. Peter got in the car, and Neal opened his door then stood in place, looking back in the direction of Kate's grave for a moment. He knew he would come back someday, but it wouldn't be soon.


End file.
